The Leftovers

Fulfilling a campaign pledge, he’d opted for a hands-on style of governing, making himself available to meet with constituents on a first-come, first-served basis for an hour every day. This was partly a matter of good politics, and partly a coping strategy. Kevin was a social animal: He liked having somewhere to go in the morning, a reason to shave and shower and put on decent clothes. He liked feeling busy and important, certain that his sphere of influence extended beyond the boundaries of his own backyard.
    He’d learned this the hard way after selling Patriot Liquor Megastores, a sweet deal that left him financially independent at the age of forty-five. Early retirement had been the dream at the center of his marriage, a goal he and Laurie had been moving toward for as long as he could remember. They never said it out loud, but they aspired to be one of those couples you saw on the cover of Money Magazine —vigorous middle-aged people riding a tandem bike or standing on the deck of their sailboat, cheerful refugees from the daily grind who’d managed, through a combination of luck and hard work and careful planning, to get a chunk of the good life while they were still young enough to enjoy it.
    But it hadn’t worked out that way. The world had changed too much and so had Laurie. While he was busy managing the sale of the business—it was a stressful, protracted transaction—she was drifting away from the life they’d known, mentally preparing herself for an entirely different future, one that didn’t include a tandem bike or a sailboat, or even a husband, for that matter. Their shared dream had become Kevin’s exclusive property, and useless to him as a result.
    It took him a while to figure this out. All he really knew at the time was that retirement didn’t agree with him, and that it was possible to feel like an unwelcome guest in your own home. Instead of doing all the exciting things he’d dreamed about—training for an over-forty triathlon, learning to fly-fish, reigniting the passion in his marriage—he mostly just moped around, an aimless man in baggy sweatpants who couldn’t understand why his wife was ignoring him. He put on weight, micromanaged the grocery shopping, and developed an unhealthy interest in his son’s old video games, especially John Madden Football, which could consume whole afternoons if you weren’t careful. He grew a beard, but there was too much gray in it, so he shaved it off. That was what passed for a big event in the life of a retired man.
    Running for office turned out to be the perfect antidote for what ailed him. It got him out of the house and into contact with lots of other people without being anywhere near as demanding as a real job. As Mayor of a smallish town, he rarely worked more than three or four hours a day—a good part of which was spent wandering around the municipal complex, chatting with various clerks and department heads—but that little bit of structure made all the difference in his daily routine. Everything else fell into place around it—afternoons were for errands and exercise, evenings for relaxing; later on, there was always the Carpe Diem.
    *   *   *
    ON THE way up to his office, he popped into police headquarters for his daily briefing and caught Chief Rogers eating a massive blueberry muffin, a clear violation of his heart-healthy diet.
    “Oh.” The Chief cupped his hand over the broken dome of his muffin, as if to protect its modesty. “Little early, isn’t it?”
    “Sorry.” Kevin retreated a step. “I can come back later.”
    “That’s all right.” The Chief waved him in. “It’s no big deal. You want some coffee?”
    Kevin filled a foam cup from a silver push-button thermos, stirred in a packet of creamer, then took a seat.
    “Alice would kill me.” The Chief nodded with guilty pride in the direction of his muffin. He was a sad-eyed, flabby man who’d had two heart attacks and a triple bypass before the age of sixty. “But I already gave up booze and sex. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna give up breakfast.”
    “It’s your call. We just don’t wanna see you back in the hospital.”
    The Chief sighed. “Let me tell you something. If I die tomorrow, I’m gonna regret a lot of things, but this muffin won’t be one of them.”
    “I wouldn’t worry about that. You’ll probably outlast all of us.”
    The Chief didn’t seem to think this was a very likely scenario.
    “Do me a favor, okay? If you